Loving Mrs Weasley
by beautifulmornings
Summary: Somewhere in the last five years Fred has fallen in love with Hermione. Now Hermione has married Ron and he has to move on from what he thought was the love of his life - well, if she'll let him.
1. The Wedding

**Disclaimer: **Setting, characters etc belong to JK Rowling.

**A/N: **This is what is currently happening.  
_ This is Fred's memories._

**The Wedding**

It was the second largest wedding of the century, second only to Harry and Ginny's. Hermione looked radiant in an elegant white dress than swirled delicately round her feet as her husband slowly span her round and round on the polished dance floor in front of their hundreds of guests; her skin was flushed with happiness and embarrassment at all the people watching her, and her smile could light up the world. The man smiling down at her clearly adored her – nothing else had drawn his attention all day and it was obvious they were meant to be together. Fred sat in his chair, eyes glued to the blushing bride, heart aching as he watched "ickle Ronniekins" fawn over her – he knew he was kidding himself to think he had ever had a chance or that Hermione could ever love someone like him, they were polar opposites were they not? He had almost not come today, only the thought of how heartbroken Hermione would be kept him from never seeing any of them again, never having to suffer through watching his stupid brother waltz the love of his life round and round in some strange room. It was all wrong! Hermione wanted a small ceremony, something with just her family and friends, not this media circus, and she sure as hell would never have chosen this venue or those decorations, Ron knew nothing. Ron didn't deserve her. As he watched the happy couple all he could see was a different dance, with a different man, so many years ago back at the Burrow.

_ The pair span round and round the dance floor, her head thrown back in laughter, her dress flying out madly as he led her into a crazy waltz round and round the kitchen. He had smiled down at her, realising once again how beautiful she was even with no make-up on and tear stained cheeks as she closed her eyes humming along to the radio blaring out behind them. In years before they had clashed so often, the rule breaker and the rule maker, but since He had been defeated, everything had changed; they had bonded, all of them, especially since Hermione had been forced to move to the Burrow and they had been forced to spend a lot of time together. Today he had caught her, head in hands, sobbing quietly over the kitchen table – Ron had once more said something horribly cruel – and instinctively he had pulled her to her feet demanding she smile and tell "Uncle Freddy" all about it. Shaking himself from his reverie he realised that at some point they had stopped the exuberant waltz, and now she stood, head buried in his shoulder, as they slowly danced to some silly song. Hermione's smile was radiant as she smiled up at him, whispering a "thanks", before chastely kissing his cheek. Soon after Ron could be heard clattering about shouting for her, and with one last smile she had detached herself, walking towards the door, shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly as she steadied herself for whatever her lovely boyfriend wanted. It was only as his hand had reached up to touch his cheek and his world became a row of smiling Hermione's did he realised that he was quite possibly, just slightly, utterly, and completely, in love with his little brother's girlfriend._

Worriedly Hermione glanced over at Fred for what must have been the hundredth time that day. Not once had he smiled despite his twin's best efforts or the huge piles of food presented to him and it was saddening – he had become one of her best friends during those long summers when George was working, her boys were training and they were the only ones left in the Burrow and she hated to see him acting so out of character. Looking down at her shoes, so beautiful yet so pretentious (they had been Ron's choice), she wondered what could have made him so upset and quickly resolved to find out if it killed her. Smiling slightly, she stood unnoticed by her new husband who was entirely absorbed in telling some reporter or another about his heroics and made her way over to Fred's table, taking the empty seat next to him, huffing slightly as she caught her dress once more on her shoes. Gently she put her hand over his on the table, squeezing it slightly to get his attention. Fred looked up and saw her, so perfect, and frowned – this was not his girl, this was some glossed over clone – his Hermione had ink smudges on her faces, hair with more life than most people, and a face free of make-up. Her smile dropped and belatedly he realised she must have registered his angry expression and stumbled over himself to fix it. Over and over did she question what was wrong and why would he not smile, but each time he brushed her off, making jokes and jests, until frustrated she stormed off, clearly giving up on him. She'd never given up before.

_ It was the year after the war and Fred sat in his room, he refused to come out or talk to anyone and George was getting worried – desperate he had called on Hermione to help and she had come immediately, slipping into the room silently barely making a sound as she sat next to him on his bed. He had not started to cry until she had slipped her hand into hers, gently rubbing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb, and as he had cried she had wiped his tears and whispered words of comfort in his ear. Not once did she ask him to talk, not until he had calmed himself, and she had badgered him over and over, told him that to be upset and scared was ok – it made you stronger, she had said – and even then when he had been stubborn and obnoxious and refused to say, had she just sighed and smiled at him calling him silly. Not once did she go to leave even as the skies darkened and dinner was called, not even as Ron called for her over and over, not even when he had lain in her lap like a child, she had simply stroked his hair and talked to him about anything and everything. She had fallen asleep with her hand entwined in his and slumped against his wall, he had picked her up gently giving her his bed and transfiguring some of the random things in his room into a pillow and duvet so he could sleep on the floor. For a while after had he just watched her sleep so peacefully and for the first time that night he had smiled, finally at peace._

Fred was bored, the couple had long ago disappeared, and although he knew they would be back he could barely stand to see them for much longer lest his heart break beyond repair and he lost his prankster's smile forever. Pulling at his tie angrily, he tersely made his excuses, and went to leave. On his way out he walked past the hall where they had eaten their dinner, and hearing raised voices, paused for a second to confirm his suspicions. Yes, as ever, Ron and Hermione were fighting, unsure what to do, he hung back for a second, wincing at the screams of Hermione, and bubbling over with anger at his brother's cruel retorts. As ever it was obvious who was right. Ron had thrown a fit because she had not fawned over him like some mindless drone and Hermione was trying to reason with him – instead of listening Ron just insulted her over and over again. Sighing, and very aware that to intervene would probably mean his death, Fred resolved to have words with his brother – or at least use him as a test subject for their next Wheeze product. This is why he doubted their compatibility so much, how could people who were so in love argue all that time, be able to say all those hateful things to each other? He just didn't understand. Never would he treat such a girl this way, and certainly never on her wedding day. Still, it wasn't like this was the first time, he remembered back when it used to be surprising, but now, now it was just normal. Fred's mind was spinning, maybe with the injustice, maybe with the drink – either way he didn't care – and his mind span him back to the first time he had ever caught them fighting, the parallels between then and now, and wondered what had changed to make them think this could work.

_Whistling and happy, Fred made his way into his beloved home, calling out a hearty "Honey, I'm home", slightly perturbed at the silence that followed his – quite obviously – very important entrance. Shrugging, he moved off to climb the stairs to his room when he heard it - raised voices coming from the living room. Cursing he froze, he would have to pass by that room to get to his and if he was heard to be passing by he would surely be dragged into whatever fight it was, after all, the Weasley's had volatile tempers and they were vicious. Curiousity soon overwhelmed his will to live and he snuck closer, using his extendable ear to listen in on the fight; he almost dropped his ear as he realised this ferocious argument was in fact Ron and Hermione. Ron was shouting at her, accusing her of cheating on him because she kept in touch with Krum, Hermione's voice – shrill with anger and hurt – came back trying to defend herself from his vicious attacks, all that happened was that Ron escalated, shouting over her, calling her awful names, until there had been a sharp crack that had obviously come from the smack Hermione had so rightly given him. Peeking in he had seen them standing several metres apart: Ron was red all over, his anger shining like a beacon and Hermione seemed to crackle with energy, hair everywhere, and hands clenched into tight fists, he had noticed that her eyes had shone like grass in the rain, full of frustrated tears. Silence had reigned and Fred had gone to move past but then the shouts started up once more and he was caught again. This had been the summer after had left school and he had known right then and there that his brother truly was the prat they had assumed all along – him and Hermione may never have gotten along brilliantly, but even he felt bad for her right now._

Fred had sat slumped over the bar for several hours, shirt untucked and tie long since disappeared – his red hair was tousled from the hands that so often ran through it in frustration and hurt as his mind became a cinema that would only ever show pictures of the girl that tortured him so tonight. Unable to face going home Fred had retreated to the bar of the swanky hotel and downed drink after drink; he had just been kicked out and had the remnants of the bottle of Firewhiskey in one hand, his jacket dangling haphazardly from the other. When he first saw her he figured that it must be his hazy mind playing tricks on him, after all, why would Hermione Granger, the woman of the day, be sitting on the stairs of the side entrance to this place? Cautiously, and drunkenly, he staggered over to her, slumping down next to her and looking at her as though to check she was actually there. Wanly did she smiled at him. Looking up at her, he drunkenly thought that perhaps she was an angel and he was dead; her hair had long since unravelled from its strict up-do and now tumbled around her shoulders like a waterfall whilst her make-up had long since been removed by the tears she had so obviously been crying making her skin seem to glow and her eyes sparkle like the stars. Shaking his head sadly, he looked at his feet and resolved to shoot himself after this, because it was getting ridiculous. He was Fred Weasley, not some soppy little kid with a crush on his mate's big sister. They had sat for maybe five minutes more before Hermione had thrown herself, dress and all, into his arms, fresh waves of tears streaming down her face. It was another ten until her shoulders stopped shaking and she began to calm once more. Abashed, she had pulled back slightly, her face just inches from his – Fred could hardly breathe. Smiling happily at him, she thanked him, pulling him close to her and nuzzling her head into his shoulder, her lips brushing his neck as she whispered how important he was to her, how much she loved having him around and apologising for being so awful earlier, and he found that his heart was hammering loudly and he was pulling her in tightly, resting his head on hers. How he could ever let her go he didn't know. It was far too soon when Ron's voice, apologetic and desperate, rang into the night, calling for her. Smiling sadly at him, she pulled back, her lips dangerously close – he found himself transfixed by the way they moved as she spoke – as she whispered an apology and quickly brushed a kiss against his lips. Then, she was gone, all that was left was a flash of her dress round the corner, and the sweet smell of perfume. Groaning, he slumped, head into his hands, trying not to obsess too much. Fred was all too aware of how close he had been to just leaning forwards and kissing her, showing her what she meant to him, wondered if maybe he had had the guts when he had first heard of her engagement, things would have been different. The scene haunted him.

_ Shocked, he had dropped the towels his overbearing mother had instructed him to go put in the airing cupboard. Hermione was sat in that tiny little cupboard, eyes fixed on the ceiling until, startled, she had turned to stare up at him, lips parted slightly, eyes wide and innocent – so very beguiling. Drawn in, he had recovered himself and found himself slipping his lanky frame into the cupboard with her, shoving the towels onto a shelf, any shelf. Closing the door plunged them into darkness once more, and it was with excitement that he realised Hermione was practically sat on him and that her face was mere inches away. As his eyes adjusted he had watched as she leant back against the wall sighing and returning to her previous train of thought. Transfixed he had asked what was wrong and listened to everything she had said without really taking it in, only snapping back to reality when she had said "married". Paying attention, and heart thudding patiently, he realised that Ron had proposed to her that afternoon – obviously she had said yes, but she was so uncertain, with all their arguments and so much of her life left, whether he was truly who she was meant to be with – at one point she had turned to face him, eyes boring into his with an intensity and a fire he had never seen before as she asked if he thought anyone would love her more or treat her better. He had frozen, torn between telling her the truth, and reassuring her about her choice. Almost imperceptibly had they moved towards each other, neither of them realising what they had done even as their noses touched. Endless was the silence and Fred, for once, could have cared less. Hermione was sat close to him, so close he could feel the heat from her body, and she was asking him, trusting him, with one of the most important things in her life. Then Hermione had sighed, pulling back suddenly, resting her forehead on his, eyes closed, making the choice for him and telling him that of course he was right for her, and that it was just cold feet. _

That was where Fred wished he had turned around and just told her, kissed her, anything, but instead he had nodded numbly, not registering what this would mean for him. Instead he had simply sat with her, hugging her and being perfectly brotherly and supportive until, in a voice so childlike, she had asked if she could sleep with him that night. They had often used to sleep together, although that was the last time, getting comfort from each other's proximity and talking late into the night – not that Ron ever knew. Now he would give anything to go back there and change what he had done, to not pass up that opportunity, but he could not go back, and nothing would change so he would simply have to smile and pretend for her, hope that this would pass soon and that he would go back to thinking of her as his little sister, nothing more. Angry at himself Fred spotted his twin and his friend, Lee, and, realising he was still not ready to go home, moved over to them, pasting a smile onto his face and joking loudly. He persuaded them to continue the party at some of the local bars and heartily the pair had agreed, always up for a night out. None of the three surfaced until lunchtime the next day and it had been five in the morning before the twins noisy (and drunken) footsteps had been heard clattering through the Burrow. Drunkenly Fred had wondered why even though he couldn't tell you where he was or who he was with, he could still remember everything about Hermione Granger and her stupid smile.


	2. The Divorce

**Disclaimer: **Characters, setting etc, belong to JK Rowling.

**The Divorce.**

Three years almost to the day had passed since Hermione's wedding and her and Ron seemed to be thriving, one never being seen far from the other. Everyone else had settled down as well, or was at least in the process of it: George had Katie, Bill had Fleur, Percy had Penelope, Charlie was engaged to a Laura he had met in Romania, and Fred was engaged to Angelina, his girlfriend of nearly two years. There were also several children running around now and Mrs Weasley was constantly badgering anyone who had not already given her "grandbabies" to hurry up and do so, eliciting many laughs from the smug couples who were exempt from her pestering. All in all, everything was going well, the future was looking bright and clear and so very, very predictable. Fred sighed. Never had he thought he would get bored of his life but recently he had: he rarely saw his twin who was quite obviously very in love with his new wife and had recently moved out leaving him alone in his apartment; his mother invited him over just to ask him when he would give her grandchildren, which he abhorred already nervous enough about his upcoming wedding; and, last, but certainly not least, the wedding plans were driving him crazy, it was all anyone talked about anymore – even Angelina had turned into some kind of Bridezilla insisting on a the kind of huge, extravagant affair he had hoped to avoid. Oh, to be young and free again.

Sighing, Fred rolled over in his empty apartment, momentarily shocked to find another body occupying it too. Angelina and he had met at one of their frequent class reunions down in Hogsmeade and he had remembered his childhood crush on her, soon they had started to date and things had just sort of progressed from there he supposed – he still wasn't sure when things had gotten so serious between them and when he had decided that she was now the love of his life. It was so frustrating sometimes. On days like this, Fred would sometimes allow himself a small indulgence – he would imagine that instead of having Angelina sleeping next to him, it was Hermione, and wondered whether life would be any different if it was her that he was to marry. So far he had managed to convince himself of the ultimate horror of that scenario, laughing and scoffing at the fact he had even considered it. That was long gone, a stupid infatuation he could barely believe he had fostered for so long, Angelina was the love of his life – she got him like other people didn't, never did she scold him or think him stupid or inferior, no, they were perfectly matched. Smiling lazily, content with the conclusion he had reached, Fred slid closer to his fiancée and went back to sleep.

At first, it had been hard for him to see Hermione and Ron so happy together, but Fred had quickly cured that with a string of trashy girlfriends and drunken nights – childish but effective. Within a couple of months the situation became bearable and he could be in the same room and by the end of the year he could kid himself that he could really care less about their relationship or how happy they were together. It was around then that he had met Angelina, and could finally officially declare himself over his stupid obsession. Of course, there had been moments of doubt, like the pang of dread that he used to feel when Ron and Hermione had spoken about having children, the anger he felt at his little brother every time Ron called Hermione some name and she turned up crying on his door, the sick feeling in his stomach that sometimes crept up on him when he caught them kissing. Over the last three years, although still close, Hermione and Fred's bond had weakened as he had pushed her away, avoiding any situations that could force him to confront how he had once felt: no longer was she permitted to sleep round the flat when her and Ron fought, never did they go anywhere alone, and god forbid she should hug him for more than five seconds. Sometimes when it was dark and his fiancée was asleep, did he allow himself to miss their easy friendship and the smiles she had always held just for him, but it was inevitable he had concluded, and therefore, there was little point in thinking too much on that subject.

After all, he had a perfect life now, and the past was just that - the past.

* * *

Miles away from Fred's little apartment in Diagon Alley, Hermione lay staring at her ceiling in a bed that was cold and empty. Recently she and Ron had been fighting more than often and it had gotten so bad that sometimes they could not even bear to sleep in the same bed with each other. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes. Last night was supposed to have been their anniversary but the day before they had had one of their biggest fights ever over some letters Hermione had found lying around, and he had not come home since then. Her marriage was cold and lonely no matter how well they managed to pretend in front of his family and she feared that as much as she loved Ron, they would not be able to weather this particular storm for much longer. Married and divorced at 25, she had thought bitterly, wishing desperately she had a friend to turn to right now, but Harry was also Ron's best friend, and Ginny was still his sister. In years passed she would have turned to Fred but since she had married Ron they had grown more distant despite her best efforts and she was unsure if she could just turn up and expect everything to be the way it once had once been. Drying her eyes angrily, Hermione huffed and glanced at her clock: 7.15. Time to get up and do something useful she thought, pulling herself wearily from the empty bed and slipping into the bathroom hoping that a warm shower would make her feel better.

Ron arrived home at 11 that night, head hung in shame and feet shuffling as he stood in the kitchen doorway. Hermione surveyed him sadly knowing that this was inevitable, that tonight would be the last night she could pretend she was content with this life; she was not stupid, Ron loved her, but it was silly of her to think he could resist the flattery and drinks offered by the many girls eager to be with a war hero. Angry and hurt he had probably gone to some groupie's house and done something he regretted and had now come here to apologise and grovel. Thing was, as hurt and upset she should be with him – especially considering the lewd letters he had been receiving from Lavender and the large love bite on his neck – she simply could not muster the effort to be bothered by it all, she was just tired of it now if she was honest. Love was not enough for them; this marriage went round in circles like a dog chasing its own tail. Ron had opened his mouth to spout the same old apology but Hermione cut him off with a wave of one elegant hand. It was then with two words that she ended her life for the last eight years.

"It's over."

Moving swiftly past him she packed her things with an efficient flick of her wand, striding out the door with barely a backwards glance forcing herself to remain impassive. Buoyed up with her success, Hermione had utterly forgotten to plan where she would go – she had no money on her, just her wand and her belongings, and at this time the Burrow would be asleep. Harry had kids so she could not just arrive there, and she wasn't all that close to any of the other Weasley's, well, except Fred. Sighing and preparing for the inevitable humiliation of having to grovel for a place to stay, Hermione disappeared with a crack, reappearing on the doorstep to Fred's flat, and desperately hoping Angelina wasn't in as she really did not feel like dealing with the other girl right now (she was far too obsessed with her wedding). She knocked and waited.

* * *

Fred looked up startled as he heard someone knock on the door and wondering who it was, went to open it cautiously. What he saw made him drop his wand in shock. Hermione Granger stood on his doorstep dressed in jeans and a jumper carrying several trunks worth of things. Her smile was nervous, and like a child, Fred flushed, stuttering and stammering as he invited her into his house, asking why she had come and if there was anything he could do. Hermione told him everything, leaving out Ron's infidelity, and then as though realising what had just happened, ceased to keep control of her calm demeanour and began to cry silently, lost and confused in a world where she had no home, no husband, and no family. Sadly Fred slung his arm around her, pulling her into his lap as he had used to do before she had married and he had gotten engaged, hoping that she could take comfort from his simple gesture, and she did, her sobs becoming deep, even breaths as she faded into sleep. Smiling down at the girl – no, woman – in his arms, Fred felt a warmth in his stomach. Brushing her hair off her face, he kissed her forehead lightly, and carried her to his bed intending to sleep on the sofa or in his twin's bed.

Hermione stirred as he tucked her into his bed, looking up at him with tears still clinging to her eyelashes and asked him to stay, just for tonight. Fred could not resist, he never had been able to especially when she turned those doe eyes on him, so, hating himself for his weakness, he crawled into bed with her, clinging to the edge of the bed and hoping this would be enough. Hermione somehow managed to wriggle over to him, snuggling herself into his side unconsciously, forcing Fred to roll over and pull her in instinctively, hugging her close. When he breathed he could smell her fruity shampoo and he realised with a sharp stab of pain how much he had missed their friendship – he might not still harbour any feelings for her, but he did still need her in his life. This realisation worried him as he feared that all he had worked for would come crumbling down if he let her get too close again, especially this close to his wedding. The sun had long since started to stain the horizon red before Fred could sleep, arms wrapped tightly around Hermione, head buried in her hair.

Fred woke up content and happier than he had been in a while, stretching languidly as he heard the shower running in his bathroom and assumed Hermione had gotten up not long before. He was right, and ten minutes later she emerged, hair damp, and clad in a t-shirt and shorts, smiling hesitantly and apologising profusely for her previous behaviour. Laughing gently, Fred reassured her that everything was honestly alright. It made him happy to see how easily they had slipped back into their old roles despite his apprehension and he was glad she had turned to him last night. Breakfast was eaten in comfortable silence and Hermione kindly offered to clean up. It was around lunchtime when Hermione came to find Fred in his workshop, thanking him profusely before telling him she was to leave. Worriedly, Fred frowned at her, wondering where she would stay and whether she would still come and see him after this – voicing his first thought, he waited for a reply, watching Hermione's face fall as she realised she had no real answer to this. Her silence was answer enough and she looked down flushed with embarrassment. Fred took this as an opportunity to ensure they could not drift apart once more, damning the risks, and taking her hands in his pulled her into the shop and began to waltz her merrily around the desks before stopping and getting on one knee to Hermione's amusement.

"Would you, Hermione Granger, do me the honours of becoming my new flatmate?"

Smiling, and still uncertain, Hermione nodded in assent, pleased that she would get to be around Fred and the comfort he always provided – right now he was staging a mad faint as though in shock and happiness before swiftly standing and spinning her round like a rag doll. Hermione laughed loudly and suddenly she felt years younger.

Weeks passed and it was not long before the pair slipped into a comfortable routine despite their wariness, both working during the day, and always eating dinner together with the exception of when Fred was with Angelina. Hermione had taken George's old room and insisted on paying rent, although both knew the rent Fred made her pay was far less than it should be and in thanks she made sure that his exuberant nature never meant that his house was not clean or there wasn't food in the fridge. They fitted together well. Ron and Hermione had filed for divorce and it was going well, Ron had dumbly accepted it, well aware of the problems that could never be fixed and knowing he was at serious fault for his indiscretions. The family had also taken it surprisingly well, and everything seemed normal. However, no one was really aware that Hermione was living with Fred except Angelina and George as she was deeply worried about their reactions to this news especially considering her recent status with Ron – not to mention Ron would go completely mental no matter how much they agreed they should not be together. But all in all it was a good arrangement and it was not uncommon to find the pair curled up watching films or Fred giving Hermione a massage after a particularly awful day, their relationship was entirely restored and neither had been happier in years if they were honest with themselves, in fact the last time either had felt this content was those long summers after the war and before everything changed. Now they were so close Fred reasoned, it was natural that he should be so happy she was back, and that the magnifications of his previous feelings of anger and distate he had been harbouring for her relationship these last three years with Ron was simply because he knew more about the situation.


End file.
